Chapter 22. A trap for a predator
Returning to the ancestral home was like going from an icy hell to a warm, stuffy golden paradise. I walked through the familiar corridors, not feeling the softness of the carpets under my feet. The wind was still howling in his ears, and the taste of snow and his own disappointment was on his lips.
I did not go to my chambers. I went straight to my father's office. I needed to tell him everything. Immediately.
The guards at the oak doors silently let me through. Solomon was sitting at his massive desk, studying some scrolls, but his gaze was absent, fixed somewhere in the distance. He looked up at me, and in them instantly appeared the same paternal anxiety that he so carefully hid from everyone.
"Queen?" He put down his pen. "Is something wrong?"
—We found him,— I blurted out, taking off my soaked cape and throwing it on a nearby chair. "Or rather, his hideout. An old cabin in the valley.
I sat down in the chair opposite, without waiting for an invitation, and began to talk. That's all we've seen. His strange, well-honed training. And... a girl. I wasn't trying to be objective. I put into words all my amazement, all my confusion. I talked about her thinness, her uncertain movements, and the way she looked at him with complete trust and dependence.
—He... he takes care of her, Father," I finished, and for the first time my voice cracked, betraying my inner turmoil. "Or she's part of his power." We don't know. But he's not just a soulless killer. There's some kind of... story to it. Riddle.
Solomon listened without interrupting. His face remained impenetrable, but his fingers slowly drummed on the tabletop, betraying the intense work of thought.
—The girl...— he finally said. — It changes the balance of power. Either he has a vulnerability, or we're dealing with something completely new. A symbiosis. A werewolf bodyguard. There are many options.
"We can't just barge in there,— I argued passionately. "If she's not a combat unit, we can destroy her. And if it is… we will provoke an unpredictable reaction. He was on his guard. He sensed us. I'm sure.
"You're right,— he agreed unexpectedly easily. — Brute force won't work here. Surveillance has also reached a dead end. He's not going to come out and show all his cards.
He got up and went to the window, looking out at the snow-covered gardens. — We need to lure him out. Make them take the first step. To show him not a threat, but... an opportunity. Or bait.
He turned to me, and in his scarlet eyes lit up the familiar fire of a strategist who makes up a multi-step. "He's a hunter. So, you need to create the perfect prey for him. One that he couldn't refuse.
"Which one?" I asked, feeling my insides freeze in anticipation.
—Information,— Solomon said. "He's lonely. He's in the dark. He is strong, but blind. At least he knows about our existence, but he doesn't know our laws, our boundaries, our... weaknesses. What if he gets access to something that might give him answers? To something that looks like an accidental leak?
I began to understand. The trap had to be perfect. Not iron and bloody, but thin as a spider's web.
"The archives?" I suggested. — Are there any old reports about the first Rifts? Something that might hint at the origin of someone like him?
"Perhaps,— his father nodded. "Or something more... personal." He's interested in himself. So you need to give him a piece of yourself. The bait must be made individually.
He returned to the table and picked up the pen again. "I'll prepare something." Old maps of the dead lands with markings on abnormal activities unrelated to the Abyss. Reports on artifacts found with unexplained energy. Things that might hint to him that he's not the first. That someone knows about him. It will arouse his curiosity. And a hunter's curiosity is always stronger than his caution.
"And where are we going to leave this?" I asked, already mentally calculating the terrain.
"Not us,— my father corrected me. "You." In the place he's patrolling. Somewhere on the way between his hut and the water source. To make it look like lost luggage. Carelessly dropped. You have to do it perfectly, Quinn. One wrong step and he'll smell a trick.
He looked at me, and there was not only trust in his gaze, but also a warning. — This will be your operation. You found him. You have to lure him out. You'll take the same squad. But this time you won't be watching. You will set up a network.
I nodded, feeling the weight of responsibility and burning impatience mix in my chest into one cocktail. "He can't resist,— I said, convincing myself more than him. — He's a hunter. He won't be able to get past the riddle.
"I hope so,— Solomon said softly. "Because if he figures out our game ahead of time... then the only way out is what we really want to avoid." Then Ragnar will get his chance.
I swallowed, picturing for a moment my uncle's fury at the cabin in the valley. At him. The girl.
"That's not going to happen,— I promised him and myself firmly. "I'll catch him." Not on a hook, but on a string. He won't even feel the sting.
I left my father's office, and the plans were already spinning in my head at breakneck speed. Maps, reports... how to pack? At what point should I drop it? We need to study his routes, find out when he goes to get water.…
The hunt has entered a new phase. From passive observation to active play. And I was the one who made the first move.
Now everything depended on how hungry the beast turned out to be.